


Matilda Wormwood and the Forbidden Forest

by cbearsee



Series: Matilda Wormwood Goes to Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Matilda - Roald Dahl
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boarding School, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Crossover, Hogwarts, Muggle-born
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbearsee/pseuds/cbearsee
Summary: Matilda Wormwood is a witch. She starts her first year at Hogwarts in 1993, where she discovers the wonders of the magical world. As a muggleborn, she must learn how to live in both worlds, with the help of Miss Honey and her fellow classmates and house-mates at Hogwarts.
Series: Matilda Wormwood Goes to Hogwarts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762867
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	1. The Visit

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, and all preexisting characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Roald Dahl.

On the twenty-third of June, in the Buckinghamshire village of Long Crendon, a small girl with long brown hair answered the chiming doorbell in the middle of tea and found herself looking up at a tall woman with a severe bun and rectangular glasses. That day a weak sun filtered through clouds, and the solitary beams fell on the stranger’s figure like a spotlight, serving only to emphasize her old-fashioned skirt suit and sensible heels. 

“Good afternoon. Is this the residence of Matilda Wormwood? I’m here to speak with her and her family.” The woman’s voice was sharp and crisp, with the slightest of Scottish brogues peeking through in her vowels.

The small girl appraised the stranger carefully, and, seeing no real threat, nodded and stuck out her hand in a welcome. After all, it would be rude not to offer her proper manners. “Wormwood is my old name, but yes, I’m Matilda.” Although she was short and slight, Matilda’s dark eyes contained great depths of awareness and understanding, too much for such a little body and too much for such a young girl. If people paid her eyes close attention, their startling curiosity shone through; in another light they were wont to be called unnerving.

The woman with the rectangular glasses looked into those eyes and did not flinch. “May I come in?” Matilda opened the front door wide enough for the stranger to step through it and enter a very neat but equally comfortable home. A sitting room with two great bookshelves, a pair of cushy armchairs, a table, and a tiny telly was to the right of the little hall, and a thick book was lying face-up and open on the nearest chair. Matilda stood and watched, never one for shyness, as the stranger took a moment to scan the surroundings, expression inscrutable.

From deeper inside the house, a voice called, “Matilda, darling, is someone at the door?” A very young, pretty woman hurried out of a door on the left, hastily wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. “Hullo,” she said to the stern woman now in their front room. “How can we help you?”

The stranger reached out to shake the other woman’s hand. “Apologies for my unannounced visit. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I’ve come to speak to you about an education opportunity for Matilda. Mrs. Wormwood, I presume?”

The younger woman blushed, and Matilda walked to her and slid a hand into hers. “No, actually, I’m Miss Jennifer Honey. I suppose I am Matilda’s guardian.” When Matilda glared up at Miss Honey, she looked back down at the child and smiled ruefully.

“Mum adopted me six years ago,” Matilda said firmly. “She’s taken care of me ever since year one.”

The tall woman called Minerva McGonagall (and what a peculiar but lovely name that was!) furrowed her brow. “I see. In any case, as I am here to discuss the matter of Matilda’s schooling, so perhaps this is the best, ah, jumping off point.”

Before anyone could respond, Miss Honey looked between Matilda and Professor McGonagall, and Matilda watched curiously as a silent conversation passed between the two.

“Perhaps we should move to the kitchen,” Miss Honey suggested. “We were just having tea; would you like something, Professor McGonagall?” She shooed Matilda back into the kitchen, with a whispered instruction to fill the kettle and turn it back on.

Matilda obeyed, and while she leant over the kitchen countertop to reach their electric kettle, she could hear Miss Honey and Professor McGonagall exchanging a few quiet words. Soon they had come through to the kitchen, and Matilda, who had tried very hard not to eavesdrop, had a teacup and hot water ready. 

The three of them sat around the little kitchen table, with Professor McGonagall and her teacup neatly in front of her. Miss Honey still looked uneasy, but Matilda’s eyes were wide and open. The longer she looked at the professor, the more interesting she appeared. Professor McGonagall was all sharp angles, yes, but she had a softness about her in the way she was treating Miss Honey. Matilda also sensed that gentleness would precede a difficult conversation. It only made her more inquisitive. 

“Is this about university?” Matilda leaned forward in her chair, her eyes shining. “I thought I wouldn’t hear back for a few more months.”

“University?” Professor McGonagall knitted her eyebrows. “I was under the impression you’re eleven years old, Miss Wormwood.”

Miss Honey put an arm around the little girl’s shoulders and hugged her closer. “Matilda is uncommonly intelligent, Professor McGonagall, so she skipped several years of instruction.” Pride radiated from her voice, and she smoothed a stray hair away from Matilda’s forehead.

“Miss Honey, Miss Wormwood: I am not a university professor. I am a teacher at a specialised boarding school in Scotland, and Matilda’s name has been on our student’s list since her birth.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was suddenly sharper, and she rummaged through a handbag Matilda swore wasn’t there a minute ago.

Miss Honey said, “I don’t understand. Since her birth? You see, Matilda’s biological family wasn’t very keen on education.”

“It is called the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Miss Honey, your daughter is a witch.” Professor McGonagall watched warily as Miss Honey’s face turned very white, but Matilda was bouncing in her wooden chair, her eyes growing ever brighter. 

“Is that why I used to have powers?” Matilda’s face fell suddenly. “But then why did they go away?”

“Powers?” Matilda could hear the worry in Professor McGonagall’s voice, just barely there.

“When I was five, when I first met Mum, I could move objects with my eyes.” It was Professor McGonagall’s turn to go pale, but Matilda had only a moment to catch her expression before the professor’s features smoothed and evened. 

“You can move objects with your eyes?” Each word was measured, but Matilda still heard a worry seeping through them. 

Miss Honey had regained her voice, although it was unsteady as she answered for Matilda, and pink splotches were spreading slowly across her cheeks. “Not anymore. It only happened a few times, but then she lost the ability, and I thought it was because we had found a proper outlet for her brains…” She blushed again, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, but a witch? Are you quite sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”

As Professor McGonagall shook her head, Matilda organized a catalogue of odd incidents over the past years into a line in her head. “Mum,” she said softly. “We always wrote things off as coincidences. Doors slamming, things getting stuck to the ceiling, whenever my anxiety was ever particularly high.” She turned to Miss Honey, who was still gazing at McGonagall. The professor had a flitting kindness in her sharp eyes, which became more pronounced as she soothed Miss Honey, and Matilda immediately warmed to her. She got the impression that kindness was not always associated with the woman, but fear was splashed across Miss Honey’s features, and Professor McGonagall proved to be an excellent listener and explainer.

“Those are all examples of new and untrained magic,” Professor McGonagall said crisply. “They often present in moments of emotional duress.”

“I see,” Miss Honey said softly. Matilda, who was too excited to speak, again slipped her hand into Miss Honey’s and gave it a squeeze.

“It is a perfectly safe school.” Professor McGonagall clenched her hands very quickly before relaxing them again, splaying her fingers out across the surface of the table. Matilda noticed. “We train witches and wizards from eleven until they come of age at seventeen. I have all the additional information with me, and I’ll stay and discuss things with you both until all of your questions are answered.”

Professor McGonagall stayed nearly forty-five minutes in Miss Honey and Matilda’s kitchen, then leaving the two of them still sitting quietly at their round table. Miss Honey’s hands once again found Matilda’s body almost unconsciously, as she drew her daughter close to her chest and rocked her slightly, like she was still five-and-a-half, not eleven. Matilda let her mum hold her for a moment, burying her nose in the shoulder of Miss Honey’s sweater, but then she pulled away.

“It’ll be all right, Mum,” she said seriously. “Professor McGonagall seems strict, but not unkind. And Hogwarts sounds fascinating.”

“It’s in the Scottish Highlands.” Miss Honey’s voice still sounded far away, like she was it was filtered through water. “You’ll be so far away.”

“We were planning on uni, anyway,” Matilda reminded her. “It’ll be just like that. It’s a boarding school. And even though telephones don’t work there, I can write you every day.”

“You’ve always been such a clever child. What on Earth did I do to deserve you?”

“Well, let’s think.” Matilda put both elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. “You are exceptionally kind, and you looked out for me when no one else could, and you have the mostly wonderful capacity for love. And I love you with my whole heart, and that’s the most important thing to me.” She beamed at Miss Honey. “I know you worry. This is a good thing, Mum. It’ll be exciting.”

“You’ve had enough exciting, dear, but let’s discuss this further after supper. I still need a good hard think about it.”

Indeed, after supper, when Matilda had had her bath and Miss Honey was tucking her in for the night, they continued their conversation. Occasionally Matilda still liked to be read to, so Miss Honey plucked Don Quixote off Matilda’s towering bookshelf, and began to read where they had left off the night before. And then, when Miss Honey had finished the chapter and kissed Matilda goodnight, the little girl whispered.

“What are you thinking, Mum?” Miss Honey sat back down on the edge of Matilda’s bed and smoothed the duvet cover.

“I think this ‘Hogwarts School’ might be good for you. And it’s ultimately your choice, darling. I will support it, and we’ll make it work.”

“I want to go,” Matilda said very quietly.

Miss Honey sighed, but she wore a lopsided smile when she answered. “I know.” After a long pause, when Miss Honey looked out the small window and Matilda looked at her mother, Miss Honey said, “Goodnight, Matilda. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Long after Miss Honey had turned off the light and shut Matilda’s door, Matilda lay awake thinking hard, thinking fast. It had been quite an exciting day, and one overpowering thought had been pinging about her brain ever since Professor McGonagall knocked on her door. There was magic. She was magic. She knew the word had frightened Miss Honey, but Matilda already knew the magical world, for that was what Professor McGonagall had called it, would expand her reality far more than she had ever imagined. 

Hours passed before Matilda could drift into dreamland, and even then she saw flying broomsticks, and pointy hats, and potions… her brain stayed full with the weight of possibilities, and when Miss Honey checked on her just gone two in the morning, for sleep also eluded her, Matilda was wearing a soft smile in her deep sleep.  
It was just the beginning of a very interesting life, and how Matilda would have reacted if she could glimpse the future – ahead of her lay a world full of possibility, exhilaration, ever expanding knowledge, and just a little bit of danger – for, as Matilda presumed that afternoon, Professor McGonagall had fibbed in their kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter serves as a bit of a summary of Matilda's life after Roald Dahl's story, as well as the immediate weeks/months after Professor McGonagall's visit. We see some familiar characters, but it's mostly focused on the relationship between Matilda and Miss Honey. Diagon Alley comes next chapter!
> 
> (It's also worth mentioning that I'm American; I do research when I have particular questions, but I'm sure I'll get a lot of things wrong.)

Much of July passed in a haze of housework and homework and the odd moment of relaxation. Miss Honey still taught year one, and she liked to begin lesson planning in the middle of summer. Just as it was when she taught Matilda and her classmates, Miss Honey prioritised kindness just as much as she prioritised learning. Matilda often leant over her mother’s shoulder, peering at the stacks of paper and neatly written notes, remembering how different things had been in her first year. In the years since Miss Trunchbull’s departure, Mr. Trilby proved himself an excellent head for Crunchem Hall. 

Even though Matilda’s nonmagical education was coming to a very abrupt end, she kept up in her studies after Professor McGonagall’s visit. As Miss Honey was solidifying her plans for teaching reading and writing, Matilda had her nose in a linear algebra textbook – she wasn’t terribly fond of maths, but she was curious to see how it worked. Miss Honey came to sit next to her after she put away her teacher binders, and she pulled out a literature book from their storage under the coffee table, settling down to read beside Matilda.

In the stretches of evenings when woman and girl would curl against each other and read, Matilda would often allow her mind to wander, thinking of how much she and Miss Honey had grown. Miss Honey hadn’t a bed when Matilda first met her. Now, settled in Miss Honey’s childhood home, in the home they shared, Matilda had all the time and the world to feel safe and warm, and she knew Miss Honey felt the same. Together they made a wonderful pair of people who had nasty pasts, but who now led uncomplicatedly happy lives.

Matilda could only hope it would stay that way, as the world(s) they knew completely shifted under their feet. As the sun came up and went down, evenings in the sitting room with table lamps turned on, Matilda found her favourite moments of quiet. She wanted to hold onto them forever.

Matilda and Miss Honey tried to cherish the days as September first grew ever closer. Matilda had fastened her Hogwarts letter to the refrigerator face, and she was counting the days until the two of them would go to London and purchase her school things.

Miss Honey and Matilda had received word the previous weekend that Professor McGonagall would be visiting again. (It came via an owl, which made such a mess in their kitchen!) Although McGonagall’s note had been on thick parchment rolled into a scroll, Miss Honey carefully replied on a page of ordinary paper, tucked into an envelope and clearly addressed to, “Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School.” The owl shook out its feathers, one landing in Matilda’s porridge, and left in cloud of commotion. It clearly knew exactly where to go. Was it magic? Miss Honey was bemused by it all, but no longer frightened. Matilda thought it hilarious.

Owls. Matilda had been reading all sorts of things, although very, very few directly related to Wizarding Britain, and she had searched enough to now know witches and wizards used owls to communicate. Telephones and the internet didn’t work, apparently. Indeed, Professor McGonagall’s owl also brought with it a thick book about basic magical culture. After Matilda pinned McGonagall’s note next to her Hogwarts letter, she and Miss Honey opened their new book and began to read. As they delve further, Matilda looked at Miss Honey’s face when she carefully turned the pages, her eyes focusing on each word. Her face was no longer pinched with scepticism, like it had been during McGonagall’s first visit. Now it was more relaxed, her eyes filled with an intense curiosity. It was like Matilda could watch the knot of worry her mother had been carrying around finally unravel.

Miss Honey and Matilda decided together to keep Matilda’s magic secret. When her best friend, Lavender, knocked on their front door the first week of August, Matilda paused – after all, Lavender had witnessed her powers long ago – but a fleeting look to Miss Honey told her to keep her mouth shut. Instead, Matilda just smiled and let Lavender pull her out the door and into the nearby park, where they made starfishes out of their bodies, their backs flat against green grass.

They talked about nothing and they talked about anything. The sky was blue and cloudless, a rarity, when Matilda took a deep, steadying breath and said, “I’m going to a boarding school this year.”

Lavender gave her sidelong glance. “You mean uni, right? I already know that.”

“Mm, this is something different that just came up recently.” Matilda rolled over to her side and braced her head against her elbow, facing Lavender. “It’s a specialised school in Scotland.”

“Scotland!” Lavender exclaimed. She sat up and pushed her fringe out of her face. “You were going to stay in England! God, I thought you would just go as far as London. Come home on the weekends and all that.”

Matilda blew out the air in her cheeks. “Nope. Not anymore.”

“Bloody hell.” It was a term Lavender was recently trying out, and only when no adults were nearby. It still made Matilda laugh, because it sounded so strange coming out of her best friend’s mouth. She didn’t feel like laughing that day, though.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah.” Matilda chose not to tell her how excited she was, because in that moment Lavender sounded devastated, and a little bit of Matilda felt devastated, too. She would be leaving her handful of friends behind.

“Matilda,” Lavender said, and she looked down at her friend, clearly hovering on the verge of distraught. “What’ll this mean? How long will you be in Scotland?”

“It’s a seven-year programme.” When Lavender gasped, Matilda hastily clarified: “But I’ll come home during the holidays and during summers! Mum would strangle me if I didn’t.”

“Miss Honey may strangle you,” Lavender said darkly. “But I’d strangle you first.” Matilda laughed for the first time, and most of the gloom that had gathered around the two girls dissipated. Lavender was the person Matilda absolutely had to tell, and now that the hard part was over, she could enjoy a couple of hours of sun in the afternoon, doing nothing but watching as cumulus clouds drifted into the sky. 

There was the matter of saying goodbye to Mrs. Phelps, too. Matilda walked to the library, intent on returning _Don Quixote_ , and Mrs. Phelps was behind the counter. Matilda was taller than the first time she entered the library; Mrs. Phelps was older, and she looked it.

She turned around when she heard the tinkle of bells at the front door, beaming as Matilda stepped inside. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite library patron? What can I do for you, dear?”

“I’m just here for a chat today, Mrs. Phelps,” Matilda said lightly.

“Oh good, because I have just enough time for you.” Mrs. Phelps always made time for Matilda. “Let’s hear you out. I can tell you’re bursting with news. Yes?”

“Yes,” Matilda confirmed, and she let a shy smile take over her face. Together they moved to the pair of purple armchairs in the corner of the children’s section – although Matilda outgrew the children’s section at the age of four, it was still the place she would go with Mrs. Phelps when she wanted to talk.

Mrs. Phelps folded her hands neatly in her lap and leaned toward the little girl. “Is this about your books?”

Matilda took a deep breath, just as she had done with Lavender. “No, actually, it’s about school. I’m going away in a couple months, to a boarding school in Scotland.” It was easier to tell someone who had so much life behind her, because Mrs. Phelps would know just what to say.

“Are you nervous?”

“I’m actually really excited.” Of course, Matilda thought, it would be a little scary to be so far away, but as the days crept closer to the beginning of September, all the possibility seemed to bubble up inside her, so much that she thought it would soon start to spill over.

“That’s that, then. Obviously, you’ll come back to visit, because that Miss Honey of yours is sweet, but now she’s strong as steel, too. You will come visit me, yes?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Matilda said emphatically.

“That’s good enough for me. Thanks for returning your book, chicken, but off you pop. I’ll see you at the holidays.” Mrs. Phelps kissed Matilda on the cheek and then really did shoo her out the door, because librarians are often very busy people, and there were now others to help.

Matilda went home that day with some of the heaviest of her worries lifted from her skinny shoulders, and Miss Honey seemed to guess what had kept her away longer than she had said she would be gone.

“How is Lavender?” Miss Honey was taking a tray of Ginger Nuts out of the oven, and she straightened up to see Matilda as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“She’s a little upset, but I promised I’d write.” Matilda stole a few biscuits from the kitchen counter. “She made me a little upset, too, but I think things will be okay.”

“Because you’re going to miss her?” Miss Honey asked. Matilda nodded. “That makes perfect sense to me. And how is Mrs. Phelps?”

“You know what she’s like.” Matilda spoke around her very full mouth, completely giving up on her manners. “Calm and utterly practical. She said that me at a special boarding school made sense, and she wants to see me when I’m home – she’s not worried about me.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to be. Now go wash your hands and wipe your face. These are going into a tin, _after_ they cool.” Miss Honey whisked them away from Matilda, leaving her daughter laughing in the kitchen, a sneaked biscuit held behind her back. 

Later that day, when Matilda had cleared the table after supper, she said to Miss Honey, “I thought people would ask more questions.”

“What do you mean?” It was a Saturday, so Miss Honey was pouring a bit of gin into a glass. Matilda was making herself a mug of hot chocolate.

“Wouldn’t it be strange to not know the details? I suddenly go to boarding school for no clear reason at all?”

“Perhaps, but I think you may be overestimating the amount of attention other people have to things that do not involve themselves. I don’t mean they don’t love you,” Miss Honey said when Matilda’s brow furrowed. “They just choose to take you at your word, because its not worth investigating. People will believe nearly everything to do with you and education. The limits don’t exist with a mind like yours.” She smiled, but Matilda spotted the wistfulness that lay behind it. 

In Miss Honey’s house ( _“It’s your house, too, darling”_ ), they only turned the telly on during the weekends, and Matilda had so many books that belonged only to her she hardly knew what to do with them. They had a flourishing garden in the back, full of vegetables at one end and flowers at the other. A swing with a wide wooden seat hung from a large oak tree, and grass grew unevenly. Matilda and Miss Honey were not concerned with conformity. They could sequester themselves away into whole worlds of their very own.

When she thought about it, and she thought about it more than usual that summer, Matilda decided the most wonderful thing about her life after Trunchbull and the Wormwoods was living with Miss Honey as her mother. It was as if everything bad that happened in Matilda’s first five years of life was fixed and made better by Miss Honey’s presence. Matilda couldn’t have asked for a better mother, as she told Miss Honey on hard days.

Maybe Harry and Zinnia Wormwood _would_ have let Matilda go to Hogwarts; she wasn’t sure. They already called her “freak” when she was little. Magic would have horrified them, but there would be no lost love to send her away for most of the year. They had given her away to Miss Honey, after all – the single best moment of Matilda’s young life – and then ran away to Spain. Matilda usually didn’t give much thought to them, because she knew they weren’t thinking of her. Sometimes Michael found space in her mind; out of the three of her first family members, he was the one for whom she wished the best. She hoped Michael was okay.

She spoke about it with Miss Honey, because she had also met Matilda’s old family (Miss Honey was decidedly her family now) and her mother would listen quietly, knowing that most of the time Matilda didn’t need, nor want, any answers. It was enough to sit and listen.

Even as she sat in her house, cosy with Miss Honey, Matilda couldn’t help but dwell. There was one thing that worried Matilda about her letter, and she was stuck on this even when everything else seemed perfect: The Hogwarts letter was addressed to Matilda _Wormwood_. She had never legally changed her name, but Matilda went by “Honey” the last six years, and that was the name that meant most to her. Would being called Matilda Wormwood be the best thing at Hogwarts? Could she still be Matilda Honey outside of school? Possibly Professor McGonagall would know the answer.


	3. The Road to Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've borrowed some excerpts from Harry's first visit to Hogwarts to supplement Matilda's first visit to Hogwarts. These blocks of text belong solely to J.K. Rowling.

In late August, Professor McGonagall returned to the little house tucked away at the end of a quiet road. This time it was Miss Honey who answered the knock at the door with a smile, albeit nervous. It was strange for Matilda to see her mother so worried again. (But on the Saturday a fortnight ago, Miss Honey had drawn Matilda close to her and whispered into her hair, “They’re taking you away from me.”) Now, though, when Professor McGonagall stood on their stoop, Miss Honey welcomed her in with little shock or fanfare. 

This visit with Professor McGonagall, her odd clothing made sense – Matilda had read the book McGonagall had gifted them thoroughly on four separate occasions, and she knew normally wizards wore robes, but sometimes they needed to change to fit in with the “muggles” – that’s what the wizarding world called nonmagical people like Miss Honey – and apparently, they didn’t always do a very good job at it.

Everything was done in quite a hurry: Miss Honey had very quickly grabbed her bag, and Matilda was strapping on her Mary Jane shoes while Miss Honey adjusted her hair in the hall mirror. Professor McGonagall had an air about her that made everyone else feel fifteen minutes late.

They took a bus from the village to London. Matilda and Miss Honey were squished together on the bench with McGonagall sitting slightly apart, maintaining a close circle of space. It was nearly an hour trip, though, and Matilda was full to bursting with her questions, so she could hardly hold her tongue that long.

“Professor?” McGonagall looked down, and her sharp gaze made Matilda hesitate. She got the distinct impression Professor McGonagall was never one to be harassed when she was at Hogwarts. Matilda swallowed hard, and asked, “How common are muggle-borns? I mean, surely both of my parents are muggles?” She could tell Miss Honey was listening closely even as her eyes stayed fixed ahead.

“Your parents are muggles, but because your blood is magical, some of your ancestors had to be magic. Muggle parents with a magical child is uncommon, although we always have a few of muggle-born students per year. In fact…” Professor McGonagall’s voice drifted off, and Matilda had a sense that didn’t happen very often. If she read her new professor’s thoughts, as she desperately wanted to, Matilda might have glimpsed a flash of bushy brown hair. Instead, Professor McGonagall allowed herself a small smile at Matilda as she said, “My father was a muggle.”

“ _Really?_ ” It took Matilda a moment to realize her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut. Miss Honey had stopped pretending hearing loss, and she too stared at McGonagall. 

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall said. “But not many people know that.” Matilda nodded; the professor’s words were laden with an unsaid message: Don’t pass this knowledge around. Matilda would keep Professor McGonagall’s secret safe.

The rest of the way to London was quieter, and Matilda held Miss Honey’s hand tightly as she all but pressed her nose against the little bus window, watching the other cars pass by. Neither she nor Miss Honey knew very much about London life, but they had been a few times together to see a show or a particular speaker. 

That limited knowledge became more useful when Matilda, Miss Honey, and Professor McGonagall transferred from the little bus to the Underground. The ticket barriers flummoxed Professor McGonagall, and Miss Honey had to help pass the ticket through as McGonagall’s lips grew steadily thinner.

It was, in short, a stressful experience on public transportation.

When they eventually emerged from the Charing Cross station, Matilda felt a little askew and needed to stop and readjust her left shoe. Professor McGonagall was glancing around the streets with her eyebrows wrinkled together and lines set around her mouth. When Matilda asked her what she was looking for, McGonagall said it was nothing (which was, in fact, a lie).

She led Miss Honey and Matilda farther down street until the three of them arrived in front of a crowded row of shops. Matilda had to refocus her eyes slightly, and when a little pub tucked away in between two larger buildings appeared, Matilda examined it with eyes wide as saucers. It looked ancient. “The Leaky Cauldron… what an odd name.” Professor McGonagall nodded down at her in recognition, or maybe approval.

“I can’t see anything.” Miss Honey titled her head the way Matilda’s was and squinted.

“Ah, Miss Honey, you wouldn’t. It’s charmed for magical eyes only.” Professor McGonagall pulled a thin stick of wood from her sleeve which Matilda guessed to be a wand. “Do I have your permission to perform a spell which will enable you to see it and successfully enter Diagon Alley?”

Miss Honey looked extremely apprehensive, but she nodded. Professor McGonagall didn’t even have to say anything, but Miss Honey shivered violently, as if suddenly caught in a strong, cold wind. She turned back to gaze at the stores lining the road. “Oh, my goodness.” She looked a little faint as she pressed a hand to her chest, and Matilda could only imagine the disconcertment of watching a building pop up out of nowhere.

“Well then, we are free to enter.” Matilda hadn’t seen it happen, but McGonagall now wore a pair of simple robes, but before Matilda could say anything McGonagall opened the pub door and swept inside, with Matilda pulling Miss Honey along behind her. The Leaky Cauldron was much larger inside than it had appeared on the outside, full of oak and comfortable chairs around furniture. It was maybe half full, and eyes followed Professor McGonagall’s imposing figure. She said hello the barman, named Tom, who nodded and gave Matilda and Miss Honey warm smiles. 

Professor McGonagall led them out through the back door and into a very small courtyard with a tall brick wall. She unsheathed her wand once again, standing in front of a large rubbish bin, and tapped a brick three up and two across. The bricks began to shift, and Matilda and Miss Honey gasped simultaneously.

The brick wall had transformed into a wrought-iron arch, and beyond it stretched a cobblestone road. As Matilda looked at the strange shops and the stranger names, she pulled out the list of school supplies enclosed in her original letter. She scanned it and let out a soft, “oh!” The items made much more sense as she reread the lists penned on the parchment.

**First Year Students Will Require:**  
• **Uniform**  
o Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
o One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
o One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide of similar)  
o One winter coat (black, silver fastenings)  
o Please note that all student’s clothes should carry nametags at all times  
• **Books**  
o _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk  
o _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot  
o _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling  
o _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch  
o _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Newt Scamander  
o _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble  
• **Other Equipment**  
o 1 wand  
o 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
o 1 set of glass or crystal phials  
o 1 telescope  
o 1 set of brass scales  
o Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad  
 **PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.**

When Matilda looked up, she started matching shop names to items on her school list. Yes, there was a cauldron shop, an apothecary, a bookshop named Flourish and Blotts which she was very excited to explore, and, probably most importantly for Miss Honey, she could spot a large bank right before a bend in the street.

“Oh, my goodness,” Miss Honey said again. She was still standing at the top of the street, the brick wall now re-solidified behind her. She too glanced down at Matilda’s list of supplies and looked faintly sick. “How are we going to afford all of this?”

“You start at the wizarding bank, Gringotts,” Professor McGonagall said, pointing to the imposing building several metres ahead of them. “They can, ah,” McGonagall paused, clearly searching for a word, “They can exchange pounds for galleons and other wizarding coins.”

Miss Honey looked at the bank, looked back at Matilda (who was so deeply entranced she hardly noticed the two women talking) and finally turned back to the Professor. “You must be very busy, Professor McGonagall – I mean, you’re the deputy head, really – why did you choose to accompany us? You must have better things to do.” Miss Honey was clearly steeling herself for an inevitable goodbye, the kind of parting that said _this far but no farther,_ wherein she and Matilda would be left to wander Diagon Alley alone. 

Professor McGonagall give Miss Honey a rare, small, smile, full of genuine warmth and understanding, and Matilda, who had examined the various sides of McGonagall closely enough to accurately predict a very strict instructor in the classroom, liked her all the more for it. Let the professor be strict, she thought, but she was consistently nice to Miss Honey, and that meant everything.

“You are right, I do have many responsibilities up at the school. However –” Miss Honey had been about to speak, but Professor McGonagall held up a hand. “I do make occasional house visits for muggle-borns,” she inclined her head to Matilda, “And I am not about to leave you to navigate Diagon Alley by yourselves for the first time. That would be cruel.”

The argument was finished. Miss Honey looked less nervous as McGonagall let them briskly to the steps of the Gringotts Bank. It was a white, towering structure with bronzed doors and a distinctly non-human creature standing beside them. Miss Honey almost jumped and couldn’t seem to look at it, but if it wasn’t rude to stare, Matilda would have looked at it – him – for several seconds longer. Professor McGonagall held the heavy door open for them.

“I forgot to mention the bank is run by goblins,” she said, as they stepped into a small receiving area. A horrified Miss Honey mouthed _Goblins?_ – but Matilda was already reading the inscription above a second set of silver doors:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors,  
A magic that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there._

Professor McGonagall gave it a passing glance as they passed through the doors and into a cavernous hall. Matilda thought it best not to ask questions, but even as she took in the many doors, brass scales, gold and precious stone, which would have impressed anybody, her mind stayed stuck on the stone. What would happen if someone tried to rob this bank? Had anyone done it before? People robbed banks all the time in her muggle world.

She stayed back, watching with wide eyes, as Professor McGonagall and Miss Honey approached a free station and a waiting goblin (goblin!), Miss Honey nervously trading her pound notes for a satchel summarily filled with bizarre coins. Miss Honey may be worried about money, but the whole process held little interest for Matilda.

Soon enough they had left the bank for the bright, sunny, street, and Matilda looked down at her list and back up again, spotting a shop called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions a little way down the street. Miss Honey’s eyes followed Matilda’s.

“Yes, we ought to get your uniform.” As Miss Honey and Matilda crossed the street, Professor McGonagall said something about doing a bit of shopping for herself, and was it all right to check back later after Matilda had acquired more school supplies? Evidently, she and Miss Honey had had a productive and reassuring conversation in the bank, because Miss Honey had a little of her own bravery back, that part of her Matilda once helped her find, and Matilda heard her mother say, “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

As Professor McGonagall walked away, Matilda could more clearly see groups of teenagers, no doubt Hogwarts students, looking horrified to see the deputy headmistress walking down Diagon Alley in broad daylight. As she watched Professor McGonagall’s back move farther away, Matilda rather thought she saw the woman enjoying a little bit of the fear emanating from her students. 

Alone now, Miss Honey and Matilda started the lengthy process of obtaining everything on Matilda’s Hogwarts list. She had her robes fitted, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the long fabric that fit so strangely, like a dress that buttoned up the front. They entered Flourish and Blotts, and Matilda’s early excitement was warranted when she saw bookshelves up to the ceiling, with books that were more interesting that anything Matilda had ever read, which was saying a lot. Miss Honey had to drag her out the front door once they had fulfilled the purchasing of her schoolbooks.

They walked down back the street to get Matilda’s cauldron and her related school supplies, and Professor McGonagall met them outside the Apothecary. She returned to her sternness when she directed Matilda to get her plain pewter cauldron and only the instruments on her list. Matilda’s eyes were still roving hungrily around the brilliant shops, and she peppered McGonagall with questions unabashedly.

“There are houses?”

“Yes, four of them: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. You get sorted into them. They all represent different core values, but you will find out more once you get to Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall refused to elaborate any further.

“And what’s ‘Quidditch’?” Matilda asked, as they passed a shop bearing the same name.

“It’s a wizarding sport played on broomsticks, up in the air. It’s played with four balls, and seven members. Each house has a team. The Gryffindor team has won me two house cups in two years.” Professor McGonagall sounded very proud of this fact, and before Matilda could ask again, she said she was head of Gryffindor House. Matilda found herself wishing to be sorted into Gryffindor House.

The last thing on Matilda’s school supplies list was a wand. They followed McGonagall to the end of Diagon Alley, where she would finally get her magic wand.

The little wand shop a was dim and cramped. The peeling letters above the door read “Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” Matilda stepped inside with Professor McGonagall hovering just next to the door, for this time Miss Honey had whispered that she would be right back. Matilda wanted her mother to stay, but instead she marched inside to a room full to bursting with narrow boxes.

An old, pale man with wild white hair was standing high up on a rickety ladder, and he looked around when he heard the bell fastened to the front door chime.

“Ah, Professor McGonagall, hello,” he said, apparently wholly unsurprised by the professor’s presence, even though McGonagall was resolutely standing at the door and pretending she was not there. The man with the creased paper face turned to Matilda. “And who might you be?”

Matilda took a confident step forward, even though she felt quite nervous. “I’m Matilda Wormwood, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Wormwood… _Wormwood_ … muggle-born?” The towering ladder on which Mr. Ollivander stood rolled towards Matilda of its own volition, and Ollivander stepped off it as gracefully as a long-legged cat. 

“Yes sir.” Matilda jutted her chin. She was (although she would never admit it) thrown by Ollivander’s odd appearance and uncomfortable presence. However, she stood her ground as he came to the front table and started rummaging through the boxes around him.

He threw a tape measure to her, and before Matilda could flinch, the measure was moving in the air by itself and taking all sorts of strange measurements: arm length and leg length and head circumference, but also the distance between her eyes and her nostrils, and the crevices between her fingers.

Ollivander passed her a wand and instructed her to give it a wave. When she did, and nothing happened, he whisked the wand away with an almost maniacal excitement. Matilda tried many wands without success, and soon there was a small pile of boxes stacked next to her on the table. Far from deterred, Ollivander lifted a box from a low shelf with two fingers on each hand.

“Here’s something… let’s try cedar with a phoenix feather core, twelve and a quarter inches, reasonably supple.” Ollivander placed a thin box in front of Matilda, his eyes twinkling. She had the piercing perception that he already knew this wand would be hers.

Matilda let her hand tremble for the first time as she reached into the box and grasped the long wand with its red-blond wood. Carefully, she gave it a neat little wave, and the wood turned pleasantly warm in her hand as a small flock of ghost-like canaries erupted from its tip. Matilda jumped backward, startled, and the canaries faded just as quickly as they had appeared. She peered into the empty air where the canaries had been moments before, a mix of excited and sceptical and apprehensive. Matilda felt Professor McGonagall’s eyes on her back.

Mr. Ollivander was smiling widely, the only one in the room not even a little surprised. “Excellent! It’s always fascinating when new wands in new hands do magic like that. You have an exceptional match, Miss Wormwood.” Matilda was still too startled to speak. “You’re going to have a fiery one on your hands, Minerva.”

“We don’t know where Matilda will land at Hogwarts, Garrick,” Professor McGonagall said pointedly.

“Don’t we?” 

Matilda left the shop before she could even begin to decipher the look on Ollivander’s face. She shook her head violently, like she was trying to forget his silver eyes, when someone spoke from behind her.

“Darling, I have something for you.” Miss Honey was walking down the street from Eyelops Owl Emporium beaming and clutching a domed cage. Inside, a large, beautiful barn owl slumbered, its pale heart-shaped face and spotted feathers stark against the surroundings of the street. The owl was the most stunning thing Matilda had ever seen. “Think of her as a premature going-away present.

“She’s _gorgeous_ ,” Matilda breathed. “Oh, Mum, thank you!”

“That owl will do you well at school,” said Professor McGonagall. She led Miss Honey and Matilda back through Diagon Alley, toward The Leaky Cauldron, and even though the teenagers still stared and whispered at McGonagall (and then pretended they weren’t whispering when the professor spotted them) Matilda couldn’t keep her eyes off the bird in the cage in Miss Honey’s hand.

Professor McGonagall called them a car this time, as she sent them out of The Leaky Cauldron and back into the rest of London. It wasn’t a normal cabbie in the driver’s seat, and Matilda was positive he was a wizard, because he took them home without a peep of an address from Miss Honey or Matilda. 

They arrived back to their house in Long Crendon faster than should have been possible, but Matilda was still chattering in Miss Honey’s ear, and Miss Honey was still smiling, and from the outside, the only real change was the barn owl they carried past their front door and into their home.

That night, just before Miss Honey sent Matilda off to bed, she studied her owl, whose new spot was in their kitchen. After a moment she leaned over to hug Miss Honey and whisper in her ear. Matilda decided to call her owl Portia. They had seen a production of The Merchant of Venice in London the previous summer, and when Matilda pulled away to examine her mother, Miss Honey’s eyes were sparkling with tears.

Matilda couldn't help but remember a children's novel Miss Honey had gifted her when she first moved in. Matilda had always longed for the adventure Dorothy had in that book... but perhaps her version of the yellow brick road had already arrived in the shape of a little cobblestone street hidden amongst the bustle of London.


	4. The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of J.K. Rowling's recent transphobic comments, I debated over whether I wanted to continue writing Harry Potter fan-fiction (and I took a while to pick it back up!). I completely understand and empathize with those for whom Rowling's comments have ruined the story. For me, however, I have to view Harry Potter as a series that belongs to its readers, because it has been so intertwined with my life I can't feasibly let go.
> 
> I'm incredibly disappointed by Rowling's actions, but I'm also horrified at the hateful backlash she's been receiving, after her public statement about being a domestic abuse survivor. Above all right now: Trans lives matter. Trans women are woman, and womanhood is not defined by menstruation. I'm so sorry if her comments hurt you.
> 
> The Harry Potter series has many flaws that should be recognized, but I continue to be inspired by its overwhelming message of love. I will not be purchasing any of Rowling's future books.
> 
> (Also, the next chapter should be up tomorrow, as I've been writing ahead.)

The last week of Matilda’s summer holidays was melancholic – she tried not to make it so, but errant traces of anxiety and pre-empted homesickness seeped into cracks and coloured the days blue. Matilda was still as excited for Hogwarts as the day Professor McGonagall appeared, like magic, on her doorstep, but as sure as the sun sets and rises, wisps of uncertainty rose from the ground and wrapped around Matilda's heart. No one could see them except her.

Portia was given a special ledge in the kitchen, and Miss Honey let her out to fly in the evenings. The owl would always be back in her cage by morning. Matilda had a new steamer trunk, and in the days before September first she organized all of the things she would need for Hogwarts. Miss Honey had roused herself completely, and she was especially involved in the packing process. She laundered all of Matilda’s robes while Matilda carefully arranged her new books at the bottom of the trunk. They ate every meal together, and Matilda chattered about everything she had already learned from _A History of Magic._

Matilda and Miss Honey woke on the first of September with a cloudy sky and a distinct chill to the air. It was like England already knew Matilda was going away, and protested her departure with one day of a winter far too early. Miss Honey refused to let the weather mar the mood, and even though her smile was a little forced and her eyes a little sad, she counted all of Matilda’s things in her trunk, hastily added another clean pack of underwear, and tucked a few of her favourite novels under the clothes, as a surprise for Matilda when she arrived at the castle.

When Matilda ran down the stairs from her room to the kitchen it was like listening to a table tennis ball ricochet from one wall to another. Matilda skidded around the corner and nearly ran into her mother at the kitchen counter. Portia startled, flapping her wings once and emitting a soft cry, which sounded more like a buzz saw scream.

“Mum! It’s September first! Today’s the day!”

“Good morning to you, too, darling. I have all your things ready to go.” Matilda beamed up at Miss Honey, who brushed the girl’s bangs out of her eyes. “Everything will be fine.”

“I know that.” Matilda rolled her eyes and plopped herself down at the table. “It’ll be great. Remember what Professor McGonagall said, Mum – Hogwarts is safe.” Miss Honey tutted and put two bowls of porridge on the kitchen table, placing a pot of freshly brewed tea between them. No matter how excited Matilda was, she had little appetite; she pushed the porridge around in it’s bowl, eating maybe half of it. Miss Honey noticed it but chose not to say anything.

It was a nearly two-hour journey to get to London, and Miss Honey knit a scarf fretfully on the bus. Matilda had to sit on her hands to keep still. The steamer trunk wedged between their knees and the seats in front of them drew questioning looks, as did the beautiful barn owl perched on top of it, but Matilda pointedly ignored them. The stretch between their little town and London seemed interminable. 

Matilda and Miss Honey arrived at King’s Cross station at half-past ten in the morning, and they unloaded Matilda’s trunk and Portia onto a trolley. Matilda was beginning to appreciate how noticeable an owl was in the middle of the busy train station, as heads turned wherever they went. She hurried behind Miss Honey, who was weaving through the station’s platforms.

Finally, they stood in between platforms nine and ten, gazing up at a thick brick pillar. Instinctively, Matilda found Miss Honey’s hand tightly. “So according to the books, I just… walk through it and I’m on Platform 9 ¾.” She sounded uncertain even to herself.

“Yes,” Miss Honey said faintly. “I think we’ll have to say goodbye here.” Then she turned to Matilda and bent down until she was at eye level with her daughter. “Listen to me, darling. I want you to be safe, and smart, and kind. Write every day. I know you’ll be fabulous. I love you, Matilda. I’m very proud of you.”

For a moment Matilda’s lip wobbled, but she darted forward to embrace Miss Honey, with her face pressed into her mother’s shoulder. “Love you, Mummy,” she whispered. And then Miss Honey was straightening up, and guiding Matilda to the platform entrance. With one last fleeting look at her mother, Matilda turned and walked through solid brick, her trolley in front of her. 

Platform 9 ¾ was _magnificent_. It was teeming with people, some of them wearing robes, and Matilda could practically feel the consistent low-level hum of excitement as students slowly funnelled into the train – the train. It was a great scarlet snake, with “The Hogwarts Express” lettered in gold on the first carriage. The train bellowed steam and sounded a long high whistle. 

Matilda, who had been staring at it all with her mouth slightly agape, jumped and rushed to the nearest pair of doors. She had neglected to pay much attention to the students milling in and around the train, but as she paused to contemplate the best way to get her things through the large sliding doors, what looked like two copies of the same person swept into view.

“First year, right? We can help get your trunk up.” Two identical, red-headed and freckly boys stood in front of her. The one on the left (“I’m Fred”) looked like he had singed the ends of his hair off, but the one on the right (“That’s George”) had the same eyes, the same nose, and otherwise looked like Fred down to the very last freckle. Overwhelmed but not ungrateful, Matilda gave Portia to George and her trunk to Fred. “Are you a muggle-born?” She thought that came from George, because even though they had introduced themselves seconds previously, it was difficult to keep track of which was which.

“Yes,” Matilda said faintly. She looked around and saw a gaggle of similar looking red heads a few metres away. The rest of their family? Nobody looked her way, so she clambered up onto the train. Matilda had no one to wave to on the platform when the last warning bells on the train chimed, and as she watched the straggling students scramble aboard, but she thought of Miss Honey, and she knew her mother would not leave King’s Cross a minute before the clock rang eleven. 

As the train pulled out of the station, Matilda was still gazing out onto the platform, where parents and younger children were waving goodbye. The twins, who were still nearby, leaned out the window as their mother as she screamed something about _behaving this year_ and as their father kept a hand up raised in farewell. Fred and George were still laughing as they turned back to Matilda. “You need help finding a compartment?” She thought for a moment then shook her head decisively. “Well then, hope to see you in Gryffindor!” With that they disappeared into the thick of students still searching for seats.

She was left standing in the middle of the main corridor, with her steamer trunk standing up behind her and Portia in her cage clutched in her left hand. She suddenly felt quite small with her neat skirt, knee high socks, and hair pulled back with a red ribbon. Indeed, she was at least a head shorter than many of the teenagers milling about next to her. Matilda never found an empty train compartment, but as she peered through windows, she spotted one with two girls and two boys who all looked about her age. She took a deep breath and slid open the door.

“Excuse me,” she said, and in that moment, she was all properness and not a bit frightened. “May I sit here?”

“There’s room!” The girl with dark hair and dark eyes like Matilda but honey-coloured skin gestured to a spot next to her. “I’m Esperanza Reyes.”

“Matilda.” She paused, considering what she would call herself at Hogwarts. “Matilda Wormwood.” Esperanza beamed at her and gestured to the other three people in the compartment.

“That’s Emily, and James, and Alex. We’re all first years.”

“Me too,” Matilda said. With some effort but a level of surprising strength, Matilda hoisted her trunk into the overhead luggage racks. She dropped into the seat beside Esperanza. Alex leant forward with his elbows on his knees, his straw-coloured hair flopping in front of his eyes.

“We were just talking about Sirius Black. He’s in the papers, y’know.”

“Who?” Matilda’s heart sunk to her toes at another reminder that she would be behind in this world.

“You’re a muggle-born?” Alex’s voice lilted up at the end, but it was more of a statement than a question. He said it like it was a simple fact, like it explained something about Matilda. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

“He’s a really notorious criminal, and he’s been in the Daily Prophet all summer,” Esperanza said. Matilda surmised that the Daily Prophet was a wizarding newspaper. “He killed a bunch of muggles, years ago, right after You-Know-Who disappeared.” Matilda had read about You-Know-Who in _Modern Wizarding Britain_ , and she shivered, even though she’d never talked to a soul about the most notorious dark wizard (she had decided not to worry Miss Honey with it). “Anyway,” Esperanza continued, “He escaped from Azkaban – the wizard prison – which is supposed to be impossible—”

“Because of the dementors,” Matilda finished. “I read about them. They seem horrible.”

Esperanza nodded gravely. “My parents have been talking about it all August – of course they don’t do it around me, but I’m a good eavesdropper.” 

With the air of someone desperate to change the subject, Alex asked, “Are you excited for the sorting? I’m going to be in Ravenclaw, I just know it.” He grinned at them, and Matilda felt her stomach drop. She had done so much reading, but would it be enough for her to fit in here?

“Erm, I’ve done a lot of research on it, but my mum’s a muggle, so…” She said it like it was an apology and hated herself a little bit for it. She didn’t want to boil Miss Honey down to the label of muggle.

“I mean, both of my parents are magic, but I’m still nervous for the sorting.” Esperanza said, and she shot a look at Alex. “We grew up near each other,” she told Matilda. “Alex’s parents are both Ravenclaws, but my mum’s a Gryffindor and my dad’s a Hufflepuff. They don’t care which house I’m in.”

“Surely not Slytherin, though. That’d just be bad luck.” James, who had been scrutinizing Matilda with startingly blue eyes, gave a small derisive laugh.

Emily was sitting very quietly in the corner with her corn silk hair partially covering her face. “My parents were both in Slytherin.” James immediately turned a dark shade of crimson and stammered out an apology. It was clear to Matilda then that both boys were putting on false faces of bravado and confidence.

She turned to Emily. “Slytherin doesn’t seem too bad. In _A History of Magic_ , it just says Slytherins value different qualities. It doesn’t make the people moral or immoral.”

“But You-Know-Who –” Alex cut off suddenly when Esperanza threw him another withering look. 

Emily looked miserable. Matilda was liking Alex less and less by the second, and she levelled her chin, so she was staring him directly in the eye. “Never mind You-Know-Who, Merlin was in Slytherin.” To Matilda, that was an irrefutable point. If Slytherin produced a wizard like Merlin, it certainly harboured good witches and wizards. She continued to glare at Alex for a few more seconds, even though he steadfastly averted his gaze.

When Emily smiled at Matilda, even though it was still small and uncertain, it felt like a present.

Just shy of two hours into the journey a stooped, ancient woman arrived at the compartment door pushing a trolley piled high with food. “Lunch?” She called from the corridor, and all five of them rummaged through their bags for coins. Everyone had considerably more gold than Matilda, but as they stood to select sweets and sandwiches, Emily pressed two galleons into Matilda’s hand without looking at her.

There were strange things on the trolley: chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, and something called Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Matilda bought a sensible turkey sandwich and a pasty, but Esmeralda persuaded her to get a few chocolate frogs as well. James purchased enough Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans to pass them around.

The frosty mood minutes previous was all but forgotten as they unwrapped and passed around items from the trolley. Matilda curled her legs and sat on her feet while she opened the wrapper on a chocolate frog, and a trading card fell out. A tiny, moving illustration of Merlin himself was smiling up at her. Matilda knew that wizarding pictures moved, so that didn’t startle her, but she hadn’t read about trading cards anywhere.

Esmeralda read Matilda’s puzzled expression. “They’re chocolate frog cards. They show pictures and facts about famous or historical witches and wizards. Hey, Alex, look – Matilda got a Merlin card. It _knows_.” Esmeralda wiggled her fingers at him and pulled a face. Alex had just enough self-respect to look ashamed, and Matilda realized she was starting to take pity of him.

She still thought of Miss Honey as she watched countryside whip by through the windows, the chatter of her new friends (for that is what they would become) indistinct behind her. Then the train rolled to a stop and everything went dark.

There existed a moment of terrible silence in Matilda’s train compartment before Emily let out a soft scream and James’s voice rose in pitch: “Is this supposed to happen?” Just as Alex shouted, “What went wrong?” Matilda couldn’t see through the darkness, but she could feel Esperanza trembling beside her, quiet with fright.

When Matilda toward the window again, it was frosting over, and a chill settled all around them like it had been waiting to be released from the train’s ceiling. It seeped into Matilda’s bones, and it suddenly felt like moving would be a painful effort.

James spoke, and his voice was hoarse. “There’s something moving outside.” Matilda was more concerned with the movement _inside_ , in the corridor just outside their compartment door. It slid open, and even though no one came inside, everything felt like there was a dementor maybe two metres away.

Matilda could hear her father’s voice echoing in her head. _No one in the world could give the right answer just like that, especially a girl! You’re a little cheat, madam, that’s what you are! A cheat and a liar!_ She hadn’t thought of that moment in years, but she began to shake. Miss Trunchbull’s horrible yell appeared somewhere in the opposite side of her brain: _Who did it! Come on! Own up! Step forward! You won’t escape this time!_ Matilda felt despair as she had never known before. 

Then the dementor had passed on further down the train, and even as the chill began to dissipate, Matilda kept her knees curled up to her chest and her head tucked down. The lights burst back on and the compartment felt far too bright after the all-consuming darkness.

Esperanza, James, Emily, and Alex all seemed to shake themselves out of the horrible cold as one. “What the _hell,_ ” Alex gasped, “Was that?” He looked very shaken.

“Matilda, are you okay?” Across from her, Emily reached out and gingerly touched Matilda’s knee. Matilda felt light-headed and knew she must be very pale. She nodded, but found it difficult to speak, stumbling over her words.

“I heard… voices.” She didn’t want to say anymore, but Esperanza looked deeply concerned.

“I didn’t hear anything,” James said. “Just felt awful.” Emily nodded vigorously. Matilda felt suddenly very silly and self-conscious, and even while the others returned to their chatter, she stayed subdued for the rest of the journey. Esperanza kept glancing at her, but Matilda wouldn’t look back. She stroked Portia’s feathers through the gaps in her cage, and resolutely stared out the window. A sentence from Professor McGonagall bubbled to the forefront of her mind: _“Hogwarts is a perfectly safe school.”_


	5. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! I'm preparing for a lot of testing/ potential grad school stuff at the moment, so my priorities have definitely been in a separate place.
> 
> I will warn you that I had to write a not-very-good sorting hat song for this, so just bear with me on that! We meet lots of new characters here, which I'm excited about for the future chapters. Also, thank you SO MUCH for the kudos and comments. They encourage me a lot to keep writing!

Matilda guessed they were nearly to Hogwarts; as the scenes outside the train window grew steadily darker, and as the pleasant dusk became something deeper and darker, an amplified voice rang through the train: “Please change into school uniforms and leave your luggage in the train compartments when we arrive; it will be moved up to the castle separately.” Matilda startled and carefully opened her trunk, reaching over Esperanza to unbuckle it from the luggage rack as Esperanza contorted herself to get to her own robes. After a small tussle with buckles and buttons, Matilda pulled the clothing over her head, and stowed her wand, which still felt unfamiliar, away in a pocket. 

This time, when the train rolled to a stop, the lights stayed on and the commotion throughout the train was entirely harmless, as hundreds of students stood and prepared to get off. Matilda’s stomach felt like someone was cooking popcorn kernels inside it, but as soon as the five of them left their little compartment -- Matilda lingering over Portia’s cage -- they were buffeted into the steady stream of students. Matilda instinctively grabbed Emily’s wrist just before they were separated, but she couldn’t tell where Esperanza and the boys had gone.

Everything was a chaotic mess of colours and shapes and strange voices, and Matilda swallowed her apprehension as she examined this new world outside of the Hogwarts Express.

The little train platform was teeming with people, but above them all stood a man who could be best described as a giant. He stood by the doors of the idling train, calling out to the stream of students: “Firs’ years, firs’ years over here!” He looked intimidating; ten feet tall and maybe five feet wide, with long hair and a wild beard, but as Matilda walked closer to him, she saw his eyes were crinkled and bright, and knew that somewhere beneath the beard was a wide, lopsided smile. “I’m Hagrid, keeper of the keys at Hogwarts.” His chest puffed. “I’m here t’ take you to the castle; proper tradition for all Hogwarts firs’ years.”

Matilda pulled Emily behind her as they made their way over to Hagrid, as the older students parted like a river to get past them, walking down a different cobbled road. She collided into Esmeralda on the way, who in turn dragged the boys closer to Hagrid. Standing at his feet, Matilda looked around her curiously at her fellow eleven-year-olds. Most of them had trepidation written all over their faces, and there were a handful of students soaked in pure terror. It seemed like even the students who had older siblings at Hogwarts were frightened out of their wits at the prospect of starting school, which already made Matilda feel worlds better. She squared her shoulders and pulled herself up to her tallest height as the sky around her winked its welcome. 

Hagrid led the throng of first years down a narrow path, which opened up to a black lake and a dazzling view of the Hogwarts castle. Matilda, along with many others, gasped, her eyes going wide as saucers. The castle was unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was massive, for one, with windows going up at least seven stories and many, many turrets—too many for Matilda to count, but some of them were so oddly placed they must be attached by magic.

Hagrid was ahead of them and utterly unperturbed by the view. Eleven-year-olds trailed in his massive footsteps, their eyes still gazing up to the castle as if they’d been glued into the position. It already felt like a drug Matilda would never tire of, the high of it was so great.

“Four students to a boat!” And yes, Matilda saw the string of boats neatly lined up, half on the shore and half in the water. She tugged Emily behind her as they clambered into a nearby boat, and suddenly James was in on the other side. A slightly grubby boy named Elliott squished himself into the last empty spot. Hagrid’s breadth took up a whole boat by itself, and he led the other twenty (which rowed themselves) across the vast lake towards the towering entrance of the castle.

Each boat nosed against the opposite shore, beside the opening of a large cave of a dock, and Hagrid was patient as he stopped each boat to make sure the students got out in one piece before the boats filed themselves in an obedient row down into the dark of the cave. Several students were trembling, not out of the cold but out of fear. Matilda was steady, and there was a deliberateness to her as she examined the exterior of Hogwarts. She wanted to remember every molecule of how her body was in that moment; she wanted to preserve every lasting whisper of the way she felt as she gazed up at the place that she would call home for the next seven years.

Hagrid knocked three times on a pair of doors taller even than him, and a woman in robes and a stern bun opened the door: Professor McGonagall stood in front of them all, and as she surveyed the new students, her eyes lingered on Matilda, and her eyes smiled.

“Thank you, Hagrid. First years, follow me please.” As Hagrid stepped through a nearby door, Matilda knew where the sternness she had first sensed in Professor McGonagall lay. Her voice was sharp, her manner sharper, and she shepherded the first years into a plain room further down the cavernous entrance hall.

Emily, who was still clinging to Matilda, put her mouth close to Matilda’s ear. “She’s a little frightening.”

Matilda smiled and shook her head no. “I know her; she gave me my Hogwarts letter. She’s just strict.” Indeed, McGonagall chose that moment to clear her throat, and the huddle of children went silent immediately. 

“The sorting ceremony is about to begin. I will lead you into the Great Hall, and each of you shall be alphabetically sorted into one of the four houses of Hogwarts. Are there any questions?”  
As the professor peered down her nose and through her eyeglasses, nobody dared make a peep. McGonagall surveyed them once, twice, before she said, “Very well, then. Let’s begin. After me, please.”

The line of identically dressed first years lined up in front of a spindly stool, and when Matilda looked out across the dazzling hall (the ceiling was hardly a ceiling at all!) below her was the sea of students divided into house tables. She knew that soon she’d know which table was hers. But how would it be decided?

It was then that Matilda saw a very small professor – smaller than the smallest of the first years – with wild white hair bustle up to the stool and place on it a patched and ancient witch’s hat. Matilda stared at it uncomprehendingly, and then jumped backwards with the rest of the first years as the brim of the hat suddenly yawned open and began to... sing.

_“I’ve sat here through the centuries, witnessing all that  
Allows me to perform a job so fine!  
For each head that sits under me, I see right through their mind  
Dare not underestimate me—I’m not your ordinary hat._

_I’ll let you know where you belong.  
I offer up myself to you, only for one day;  
So find it best to listen close to what I say.  
I am yet to find an instance when I am proven wrong._

_You may find a home in daring Gryffindor,  
Where bravery and gallantry rise above the rest.  
For there is nothing Gryffindors will refuse to test,  
And legend has it there exists no challenge in which they don’t endure._

_In wise old Ravenclaw they choose all those  
Who value most their wit;   
If cleverness becomes you then this is the best fit --   
For you won’t find a Ravenclaw stand something they don’t know _

_Fair Hufflepuff took in the people purest in their hearts;  
Their tolerance unmatched by everyone I’ve seen,   
No corrupted Hufflepuff has there ever been.  
They offer all the best of them, baring all their parts._

_Shrewd Slytherin accepts just those filled with noble blood --  
A friend you’ll find, a friend you’ll keep  
Because loyalty runs deep.  
If there’s a drop of cunningness it’ll turn into a flood. _

_Above it all: be careful not to split, become divided,  
No matter the significance of the event.  
I see above all others, so double-check what you’ve meant.  
Be smart, for I fear what comes after action thus misguided.”_

The hall broke out into applause, but Matilda noticed the students sitting at the house tables bent over and whispering to each other. The Sorting Hat’s song had sparked a moment of hissed gossip, and she wondered if such a pointed commentary happened every year—for it seemed that the Sorting Hat hadn’t just offered explanations on each house, but a warning, as well: _Be careful not to split._

Before Matilda could dwell on it much further, however, McGonagall cleared her throat, and everyone went quiet again. The deputy headmistress stepped up to the hat and unfurled a scroll. In a clear, carrying voice she called, “Adams, Julia!”

A tall, broad-shouldered girl with a tight ponytail walked up to the stool and sat, her knees shaking very slightly. Seconds after she pulled the hat onto her head its brim opened again to yell, “GRYFFINDOR!” Julia Adams pulled off the hat so quickly it was like it had bitten her, and she walked down to the cheering Gryffindor table. If Matilda craned her neck, she could spot the twins she had met on the train whistling in celebration.

It went on like this, child after child balancing the sorting hat on their heads and waiting for its voice to determine where they would belong. Each house cheered for new members, and the professors applauded politely after each student sat at their new table.

Matilda found herself holding her breath when she heard McGonagall call, “Hamilton, Emily!” She tried to give Emily a reassuring smile as the blonde girl walked up to the stool, her chin high in the air. 

The hat stayed on Emily’s head for nearly two full minutes before it cried out, “SLYTHERIN!” Matilda clapped along with the others as she watched Emily run down to the Slytherin table. Matilda could hear some Gryffindor’s booing, and when she saw Emily’s chin waver, Matilda forced her hands together harder, louder. When Emily sat, she was out of sight, so Matilda turned back to McGonagall and listened to the sorting continue, her nerves mounting as the professor called up the rest of her new friends. There were other names in between, but Matilda’s ears weren’t working properly. It was like a buzzing was growing louder the closer McGonagall reached to the end of the alphabet, and Matilda could barely keep up with her voice. 

“Keller, James!”  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Stevenson, Alex!”  
“RAVENCLAW!”

“Reyes, Esperanza!”  
“GRYFFINDOR!”

Before long, she was left standing with three other stragglers of the alphabet, and startled (even though she’d been expecting it) as McGonagall called, “Wormwood, Matilda!” Matilda pulled herself up ramrod straight and walked directly to the little stool, pulling the ancient hat onto her head, and squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t see all the students below her.

It was the strangest sensation. The whisper in her ear belonged to the hat; in fact it _wasn’t_ in her ear, it came front within the very folds of her brain… _Hmm_ , the hat said, and Matilda tried to stop her own thoughts immediately, wanted to give the sorting hat her undivided attention. It already knew her inside and out, it seemed, because the hat’s voice almost smiled when it said, _I know, child. I see the determination in you. Brilliance, too… You would serve more than one house well._ Matilda bit her bottom lip as she thought of Emily, now wedged on a bench with the rest of the Slytherins. Of Alex, already correcting people in Ravenclaw. Of James, who sat amongst a small knot of new Hufflepuffs. Of Esperanza, in line with all the other faces of Gryffindor House. She could find her place anywhere, she knew. It just depended on how hard she’d be willing to try.

 _I see,_ said the hat. _Your friends are important. You break rules, take risks…and you crave more. Better be…_ “GRYFFINDOR!” This it shouted to the hall at large.

A tight coil of worry undid itself in the pit of Matilda’s belly, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a great roar of red and gold from the table at the far end of the hall. It felt like a very long walk down from the hat to the Gryffindor table, and Matilda found Esperanza with great relief. Hands reached across the table to clap her on the shoulders, and somewhere down the table Matilda thought she could hear Fred and George Weasley whooping.

The straggling students under “Y” and “Z” sat under the hat (Hufflepuff, then Slytherin, then Hufflepuff again) and once all the new students were settled at their house tables, a tall man with a flowing white beard stood at the middle of the staff table. His robes seemed to sparkle, and he looked down at the rest of Hogwarts through half-moon shaped spectacles.

“Welcome, all, to another year at Hogwarts!” This was Professor Dumbledore, Matilda thought. He looked “You will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors from Azkaban on Ministry of Magic business.” Dumbledore continued to speak, but try as she might to pay attention, Matilda’s brain was already wandering.

There were just so many other things to gawp at. A large banner crest hung behind the staff table, with four coloured beasts intertwining a large black letter “H:” a red lion, a yellow badger, a blue eagle, and a green serpent. The spangled ceiling glittered all the way down to the flagstone floor, and together it created a grand picture of – not quite opulence, but definitely great comfort.

Esmeralda nudged Matilda as Professor Dumbledore continued speaking. He announced two new professors with a smile; a shabbily dressed man who was to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Hagrid himself, the new teacher for Care of Magical Creatures. Gryffindor table clapped particularly hard when Hagrid’s name was uttered, and Matilda noticed three students audibly cheering above the din a few seats away, excitedly pointing to the overly large man. The skinny boy with black hair and glasses leaned toward the girl with light brown skin and bushy hair, and a redheaded boy with hair the exact same shade as the Weasley twins yelled in triumph.

Matilda grinned at Esmeralda, the euphoria automatically contagious, just as dozens of plates of the most decadent food materialised on the long oak table. “This is _incredible_!” Esmeralda exclaimed. Everyone else in the hall seemed utterly unperturbed by the magical appearance of the feast, but Matilda’s eyes were wide as saucers.

There was more in front of her than she could ever dream of eating. She reached for the roast beef and potatoes first, and Esmeralda passed a flagon of something called pumpkin juice into her hands (“Trust me, you’ll love it.”) As the students began to pile their plates high, a pleasant buzz of chatter travelled down the table, as quick to flare up as a wildfire. 

A tall girl Matilda recognized from the sorting leaned towards them, with a dimpled smile and friendly eyes. “Hi, I’m Carrie! We’ll be in the same dormitory. I’m so excited to finally be here, and all both of my older siblings are in Gryffindor. I can’t wait to write my parents with the news; they’ll be really proud.”

Matilda stuck out her hand. “I’m Matilda, but I’m a muggle-born. I’ve done a lot of research,” she added eagerly, “but all of this is so new.”

“A muggle-born?” Carrie asked, her face alight with interest. “I’m a pureblood, but I’m sure you have lots of interesting things about the muggle world! _Wow_. Super different.”

Esmeralda nodded sagely, even though Matilda was convinced she knew nothing about the muggle world. It made her laugh into her pumpkin juice, which was in fact delicious. She couldn’t help but half-shovel food into her mouth while she listened to Esmeralda and Carrie talk animatedly about something called Quidditch ( _A History of Magic_ apparently couldn’t fit everything in it). For a moment, Matilda let the mixed feelings of excitement and trepidation wash over her. She knew there were things that she would miss, and she was sure she had loads of catching up to do.

After the feast, when she was suddenly sated and sleepy, the students scraped benches back and a clear, commanding voice called out, “First years, line up over here, prefects are leading you all the common room!” As Matilda rose with Esmerelda and Carrie, she counted fourteen students lining up behind a girl and a boy wearing prefect badges, who introduced themselves as Eric and Mallory. 

“Follow me,” Eric said, and they trailed the two older teenagers out of the great hall and back into the cavernous entrance hall. “Our dormitories are up in the Gryffindor tower. We use a portrait as a door which is password protected. All additional information will be given as soon as we reach it.” They trudged up multiple flights of stairs, one of which, to Matilda’s shock, switched position midway through, and by the time they reached the corridor leading to the Gryffindor house several people were slightly out of breath. Moving pictures lined the walls, and some of them waved at the passing students while others appeared to be sleeping.

When they reached a portrait of a fat lady in a lurid pink dress, Matilda was too tired to be surprised. “The password is ‘Fortuna Major,’” Mallory announced. “The Fat Lady changes them on a schedule, and the new ones will always be announced beforehand.” 

As the portrait door swung open, the first years dutifully clambered inside, by now joined by a mix of older students. They emptied into a large common room full of cushy armchairs, lots of tables, and a roaring fire, Matilda immediately felt more at home. The boys and the girls split up there; with Eric and Mallory leading the way to the respective dormitories. Matilda climbed yet another spiral staircase, and when she opened the door labelled for the first years, she was greeted by a room that screamed comfort.

Seven four poster beds were arranged around it, with heavy crimson drapes and heavenly looking mattresses. The girls looked at each other and quickly introduced themselves. Along with Esmerelda and Carrie, there was the girl called Julia Adams who was sorted first, and another stout girl named Jasmine Johnson. Matilda and Esmerelda claimed beds next to each other, and their trunks were already all sat on the ends. Matilda pictured Portia even higher above them in the owlery, and as she changed and slid under the covers, she felt her eyes beginning to droop.

“I’m really glad we met on the train,” she whispered to Esmerelda. “It’s nice to already have a friend.”

“Me, too,” Esmerelda mumbled. “Like you already.” With that, both girls fell fast asleep moments after their heads hit their pillows.


	6. Greenhouse Admissions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages since the last update, but I promise I'm back on track. The pandemic has really took affected my creativity and productivity. Thank you so much if you've still stuck around, I'm so thankful! In this chapter we get a glimpse of Matilda's first full day at Hogwarts, as well as a hint of some trouble that may come later in her year. 
> 
> It ends on a very small cliffhanger, but the next chapter should be posted within a couple of days, because I'm actually writing ahead! Thank you for your kudos and lovely comments. I hope you like this installment, and I hope you're excited about where the story could go next.

Matilda woke up early, thinking she was still in her bedroom at Miss Honey’s house. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the predawn dark, she saw the great mahogany bed with its crimson hangings. _Hogwarts_. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around to find everyone else in her dormitory was still sleeping.

Carefully, quiet as a mouse, she swung her legs across the bed and hopped to the floor (Matilda was still too small to reach it.) All of her things were still folded neatly in her trunk, so she dressed quickly and pulled her robes over her head. There was a uniform, sort of: pleated skirt, high socks, white blouse. It reminded her a little bit of Cruncham Hall, but she pushed this thought to the back of her head. Her clothes were mostly hidden by her robe, anyway, which had been lined with red cloth sometime in the middle of the night. 

Matilda sat down to buckle her shoes while the other four girls stayed soundly asleep. They were meant to be up by eight, with lessons starting by nine. Matilda glanced up at the clock, whose hands told her it was just past seven. She took the time to carefully plait her hair in two sections, and then shouldered her bookbag, already too heavy.

A small handful of people were already in the common room as she crept down the staircase and cracked open the wooden door. They gave her cursory glances; some were already pouring over books, but others were clearly wasting time. Wouldn’t they rather sleep? Matilda was far too nervous to get any good sleep, but all of these students were older, and must have no nerves at all.

Matilda nearly got lost on her way to the Great Hall, but she had already copied a map of the school from _Hogwarts: A History_ , so she carefully unfolded that from her pocket and traced the route from the Gryffindor common room to the hall.

Absently, she also checked the owlery, where she knew Pip was likely to be. She would go up and send Miss Honey a letter by the end of the day.

The corridors were nearly empty at this time of morning. Matilda ran into one ghost (the Fat Friar?) and narrowly escaped Filch, the caretaker with the hunched-over back. Alex had told them stories on the train. She thought he had been exaggerating, but she’d rather keep clear of Filch just in case.

The Great Hall was mostly empty, too, but food was already out on the long tables. Matilda slid into an empty part of the bench. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone yet. When she glanced up at the staff table, however, she saw it slightly fuller. A grey-haired woman leaned toward a small, stout woman with wild curly hair, deep in conversation. Professor McGonagall was there, too, pouring over a newspaper. Professor Lupin was sitting alone, like her, and he must have felt her eyes – he looked up and gave a smile she couldn't quite read.

Matilda felt her herself blush, and she ducked her head as she fixed herself a plate of food. There wasn’t much to it: a piece of buttered toast, half a pear, and a cup of tea with milk and sugar. Matilda was too wary of the pumpkin juice. She kept her head down and stayed very quiet as the hall began to fill around her. 

After a while she looked up out of sheer curiosity, and to search for Esmeralda. As more Gryffindors trickled in, she spotted instead the girl with the bushy hair chiding her redheaded friend, the skinny boy with glasses a few steps ahead of them. “ _Honestly _, Ron,” the girl said. “Haven’t you given any thought to how different classes will be this year? New subjects! And you’re already behind!”__

__“Hermione, how can I be behind when we haven’t even started?” The boy named Ron said indignantly. “Back me up, Harry!” The black-haired boy muttered something about breakfast instead, and the three of them sat across and slightly over from Matilda, the bushy-haired girl already in a huff._ _

__“Matilda!” She spotted Esmeralda sprinting toward her. “Merlin, I was so nervous when you weren’t there when we woke up.”_ _

__Matilda moved to make room for her friend to sit next to her. “I accidentally got up early and figured I might as well get breakfast. I didn’t want to bother the rest of you.”_ _

__“You wouldn’t have. We thought we were going to be late. Matilda looked over to Carrie, Jasmine, and Julia, sitting nearby, who all nodded and waved. Esmeralda piled her plate high with porridge, eggs, and sausages, and glanced around the table, elbowing Matilda hard in the ribs when her eyes landed on the three students Matilda had overheard earlier. “ _That’s Harry Potter_ ,” Esmeralda hissed, her mouth close to Matilda’s ear. “He’s a third year.”_ _

___Interesting_ , Matilda thought. Harry Potter? She had read about him in one of her books. His parents had been killed by Voldemort when he was a baby, but he was the only person known to have survived the Killing Curse. Matilda had felt rather sorry for him – although with his friends he looked quite happy. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, and sure enough, she spotted the scar on his forehead, more silver now than red._ _

__He must have noticed them staring, because he hastily rearranged his bangs. The girl named Hermione shot daggers at them, and Matilda mouthed, _sorry_. She didn’t want to be making people upset when the school year had barely started. She was already too nervous._ _

__

__The food on the house tables was nearly as good as the feast the previous night, but Matilda had no appetite, so she picked at her toast and forced herself to sip her tea._ _

__“Eat,” Esmeralda wheedled. “It’s the first day of classes, you don’t want to faint, or anything.”_ _

__Before Matilda could answer, Professor McGonagall came sweeping down the Gryffindor table, with a stack of parchment hovering aloft in front of her. She spent more time with the older students, peering over their shoulders and speaking with her mouth slightly turned down at the corners. Even though McGonagall’s voice didn’t carry along the table, Matilda felt like she could still hear the deputy headmistress’s sharp tone._ _

__The first years began to look nervous as McGonagall slowly made her way to the end of the table, where most of them were gathered, but their head of house flicked her wand and identical schedules fluttered to each of them._ _

__“Now, these are your weekly schedules for the rest of the year. All of you will be in the same classes, and you will share each period with the first-year students of one of the three other houses. Your first lesson begins at 9:30.” She began to leave, but she stopped just before to look each of her first years in the eye. “I hope you learn to take full advantage of your academics while at school, because your performances reflect on me. Good luck on your first day.”_ _

__Matilda watched Professor McGonagall disappear out of the Great Hall’s doors while Esperanza inspected their classes. “We have _double_ Charms first, with Ravenclaw, Herbology, then double Defence Against the Dark Arts _again_ , but with Slytherin… that’ll be interesting….”_ _

__The hall was beginning to empty. Matilda had brought a wristwatch with her, and she jumped when it read just past nine. “I want to run up to the common room really quickly to reorganize my bag. Are you coming with me, or are you good?” Gryffindor first years didn’t have History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, _or_ Astronomy on Mondays, and Matilda didn’t want to lug those books around with her._ _

__

__The rest of the morning was a whirlwind. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws gathered outside the classroom indicated on their schedules, and waited nervously until Professor Flitwork swung open the door. Flitwick was small enough that he was nearly a head shorter Matilda, and almost two heads shorter than Carrie. The first day was more notes than wandwork – Matilda was excellent at notes, and it seemed all her reading had given her a head start above the other first years. Flitwick was head of Ravenclaw house, but he didn’t seem to favour them at all as he chided a blond boy for scribbling on his parchment._ _

__Matilda finished her first lesson with a flame of satisfaction flickering inside of her. She still looked at all the children who came from wizarding families, and so she wrote three more pages of notes than the rest, intent on proving herself and her right to be at Hogwarts. As they filed out of the classroom, Flitwick called out to them that on Wednesday, they would begin spells._ _

__Once back in the Great Hall for lunch, before Alex walked to the Ravenclaw table he leaned towards Matilda and Esmeralda. “I’ve heard the first proper lesson in Charms is the ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ My older brother said one girl in his class got it on the first try.” Then he darted off, leaving Esmeralda exasperated and Matilda bemused._ _

__She found it funny that their first two lessons were paired with the heads of house of the other house in the class. First Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff as they walked across the wide expanse of green growing golden, that separated the greenhouses from the castle. Matilda stayed between Esmeralda and Carrie, fascinated by the plants lining the glass walls, more creatures than ordinary plants. Professor Sprout had a kind face, even if her robes were slightly grubby._ _

__“Class, we’ll begin with a study of Wormwood, something with which you will often use in your Potions brewing, but I find it prudent to examine in the greenhouses, as well.” Matilda wanted to sink through the floor, as first the Gryffindors swivelled around to look at her, then the Ravenclaws great curious. Her neck went hot, and she kept her eyes fastidiously trained on the floor. Professor Sprout paused for a moment, then regained her position just as quickly as she cleared her throat. “Your attention, please.” The whispers and stares stopped abruptly, and Matilda felt it safe to look up again. It was difficult to pay attention; from what she gathered wormwood was mostly a potions’ ingredient. Why was Professor Sprout pointing out its properties? Why did Matilda have to be in the room while she did so?_ _

__She knew Esmeralda was still watching her from the corner of her eye, but Matilda continued to write down the snippets of information that filtered through her mind, something about a distinctive appearance. The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of colours, and when Sprout dismissed them, Matilda made to leave the greenhouse with Esmeralda, her relief palpable._ _

__“Miss Wormwood, a moment?” Matilda froze, and carefully masked her face as Esmeralda and Alex looked at her, wide-eyed. She let her classmates filter out the door while she stayed behind, bracing herself to face Professor Sprout. She didn’t know why she had been singled out on the first day of lessons, but she hated Sprout a little for making it so._ _

__Still, the professor had kind eyes and almost smiled as Matilda approached her with trepidatious feet. “I apologize for the attention you received from the wormwood plant. I know the beginning of a Hogwarts education can be dauting. And you are muggle-born, yes?”_ _

__Matilda nodded mutely. She hadn’t a clue how Sprout knew her parentage. As if reading her mind, Sprout said, “Professor McGonagall mentioned it to me. Your surname is a powerful one in the wizarding world, Miss Wormwood. If you are ever… interested in discovering more, I believe it would be a fruitful endeavour. That is entirely up to you.”_ _

__Matilda nodded again, unsure of what to say. “Thank you, Professor.”_ _

__“I have a feeling you’ll do well, this year. I hope you’ll take full advantage.”_ _

__Matilda must have said some kind of goodbye, but it didn’t register until she had long left the greenhouse, wandering the grounds and delaying her return to the castle and to her friends. She didn’t want to speak to anyone about it. She had nearly two hours before Defence Against the Dark Arts, and she saw no need to walk inside before class. Instead, she found an enormous oak tree by the lake, and she sat with her back pressed against the bark, digging her palms into her eyes._ _

__Professor McGonagall had mentioned something about her surname the day they first met – at least Matilda thought so, but she was having trouble remembering specifics. A part of Matilda’s brain wanted to go to the library and scour the stacks. A larger part of her brain longed for the ability to call Miss Honey on a phone just to hear her mum’s voice._ _

__Her mind was too loud and going too fast. _Wormwood_. A name she wasn’t sure she would ever want to keep. A name that was now tied to her like a bag full of stones. A name that meant something, to some people, in this new world. She suddenly had a horror that the students already knew, but they all refused to mention anything to her. Matilda was itching to go to the library, because she had decided bad information was better than no information at all. _ _

__But Professor Sprout’s words washed over her once again, drenching her in icy water. It was the tone Sprout had used, not the words, that worried Matilda the most. And she knew she would not speak a word of the conversation to anyone. Not Esmeralda, not anyone else in Gryffindor. She didn’t want them to think she was strange, not when she just got here._ _

__Matilda would not cry in plain view of people she didn’t know, trudging to and from the buildings, but Matilda felt like she couldn’t move. She took her hands from her face and looked around a part of the school she hadn’t fully seen yet. Even though September brought with it a chill, even though her robes had bunched up between the tree, herself, and the earth beneath, even though her head felt heavy with confusion and dread, Matilda couldn’t ignore how gorgeous Hogwarts truly was. Most of the people walking around her didn’t seem to notice, and so Matilda made a vow – a vow she would break, but a vow nevertheless – to never take her school for granted._ _

__She forced herself up, she dusted herself off. She had wasted most of those two free hours outside, not thinking clearly. All she had to do from then was get through the day. All she had to do – one more class, dinner, a letter to her mum, homework, and bed. Then the first day would be over, and the second day would be better._ _

__Yet as Matilda gathered her things to go back to the castle, oddly excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts and curious about the new professor, she was ignoring the glaring fact that things often don’t go as you want them to, and life always has a few tricks up its sleeve._ _


	7. Defense Against the Dark Arts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages! Sorry about that. I live in the U.S., and COVID-19/lockdown has really taken a hit on my mental health. I'm just now getting back into writing in general, let alone fan fiction. However, I missed Matilda and it was so much fun to put myself back in the world. 
> 
> I'm starting graduate school at the end of the month, but I think I'll still be able to update much more regularly, as this will give me a 'fun' thing to do outside of classes.

Esmeralda was waiting for her outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom bouncing on the balls of her feet. “What happened? Are you in trouble? It’s the first day, Matilda!” She whispered the last sentence as more first years gathered at the door, and Matilda waved her away, because it was fine and she didn’t want Esmeralda to worry, and because she didn’t want to make yet another scene.

Then, as if on cue, Emily tapped Matilda’s shoulder, and she turned to see the waif of the girl with the corn silk hair from the train (whom she had secretly liked the most, but Matilda would never dare say anything). Esmeralda looked Emily up and down, her nose wrinkled very slightly. Matilda noticed it, and it made her stomach flip. Now, Emily wore robes trimmed in green and an expression of apprehension as she stood in the middle the small crowd of Gryffindors. Belatedly, she searched behind her for the rest of the Slytherin first years, but Matilda didn’t hesitate to put her arms around Emily and squeeze her into a hug as the classroom door swung open. The two walked behind Esmeralda, fingers brushing together, and when it came time to choose seats, Emily and Matilda were next to each other, a bridge between the houses. If Professor Lupin noticed, he didn’t say anything.

One by one students pulled books out of their bags and plopped them onto the rickety desks. Matilda ran her fingers along the large embossed, slightly raised letters of its title: _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. She’d read most of it already, along with the other schoolbooks she and her mum had purchased in Diagon Alley. 

There were creatures lining the classroom walls that Matilda had never seen before, although she thought she recognized some of them from illustrations or descriptions in her textbook. There was almost too much to take in, and Matilda heard the shifting of her classmates all around her as they swivelled to inspect the walls and swaying stacks of objects in Professor Lupin’s classroom.

Then – “Wands out, please,” Lupin said mildly. There was a sudden commotion as the students rummaged through bags and drew out new wands. Matilda ran her fingers over her wand again, and thought she felt it thrum in her hand.

“Today we will be doing spell work.” An excited murmur passed through the class like a game of telephone. “Professor Flitwick and I have been in communication about curricula, and together we decided that I will start with the ‘Lumos’ spell while he starts you on ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ Do any of you know what ‘Lumos’ might do?”

Matilda’s hand shot up so fast it ruffled Emily’s hair. Professor Lupin looked at her, a bit bemusedly. “Yes, Matilda?”

“‘Lumos’ is the wand-lighting spell. It casts a light from your wand, kind of like a… erm… a torch?” Matilda faltered as she imagined a battery-operated cylinder in her hand. Her cheeks coloured and she ducked her head, avoiding looking at all of her classmates who grew up with magic, and who had never heard of batteries in their lives.

“Excellent,” Professor Lupin said. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” Esmeralda whispered excitedly behind her, prodding her in the back. 

“Good job! Ten points!”

The students watched as Professor Lupin demonstrated the spell, sweeping his wand in front of him and reciting the incantation. They tried after him, the classroom suddenly full of “Lumos!” and wands pointing in all directions. Matilda had watched Lupin closely, and so she held her wand quite still before swirling it just so, slightly, in the air, as she spoke the spell clearly.

The tip of her wand flickered, just like an old torch on its last leg, but Matilda felt her stomach swoop in excitement. She tried again; her voice softer than many around her but the two syllables achingly precise. The intensity grew, and the white light at the tip of her wand stayed on.

“Look!” Carrie exclaimed, somewhere behind Matilda, too. “Professor Lupin, look! Matilda’s done it!” Lupin came towards her, walking up through the rows of desks.

“Well done,” he said, watching the unwavering light Matilda was still shining from the tip of her wand. “Another ten points to Gryffindor, I think.” Matilda blushed again, but this time she was smiling as confidence suddenly bloomed within her.

Double lessons were already longer than Matilda thought they would be, so by the time Professor Lupin dismissed them, her belly was rumbling for dinner. She followed Esmeralda up the myriad staircases to drop their bags off in the Gryffindor tower before they went back down to the Great Hall, listening to her friend chatter the whole way.

“I can’t believe you mastered that spell so quickly!” Esmeralda’s eyes were shining.

“I wouldn’t say I _mastered_ it.” Matilda was, in fact, extremely proud of herself, but she didn’t want to boast.

“Nobody got a light nearly as clear or as strong as yours,” Esmeralda pointed out, still a few stairs ahead of Matilda. That happened to be true. The closest another first year had come to getting the incantation right was a tall, solidly built Slytherin boy who made Matilda flinch a bit whenever he looked in her direction.

Dinner was nearly as good as the feast from the night before, only not as extravagant. Matilda didn’t mind at all. She still spotted many dishes she didn’t recognize, but after a day of newness, of little kernels of worry at the pit of her stomach, she leaned over to put a small mutton pie and a large helping of mash on her plate.

She let the mingling voices of Gryffindor table float around her shoulders and up around her head, but she didn’t bother taking part until Esmeralda nudged her in the shoulder, reminding Matilda of her actions in their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

“Are you feeling ill? You’re awfully quiet.”

“What?” Matilda blinked hard and turned her head to face Esmeralda. “Oh, no, I’m just thinking. There’s been a lot of new stuff today, that’s all.”

Matilda reached for the water pitcher, and as she filled her glass Esmeralda gasped so dramatically, she made Matilda jump. “I completely forgot about your meeting with Professor Sprout because of all that happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts! What did she talk to you about? Are you in trouble?” Esmeralda leaned towards Matilda with her hands clasped in front of her like a child much younger than either of them, and Matilda felt like a hand was squeezing her heart. She took a deep breath and told Esmeralda what Professor Sprout had said in a low voice, so nobody overheard.

“Your name is important? What does that mean?” Esmeralda was talking louder than Matilda liked.

“I don’t know,” Matilda said somewhat gloomily. Professor Sprout’s words still weighed on her like a large brick.

“But are you going to find out? Are you going to do research? I bet the library has information.” Esmeralda’s eyes were sparkling with interest.

“Maybe? I honestly don’t feel like my name belongs to me – my mum adopted me when I was six, and I’ve used her name since. McGonagall suggested I revert back to Wormwood for school, and so I did. Do you think I made the wrong decision?” It spilled out of Matilda like molasses, like her worry and indecision had built up behind a dam and was too heavy to stay contained, filling her mouth with something sticky, viscous. 

“That’s difficult,” Esmeralda said. She was sucking absentmindedly on the tines of her fork. “I don’t think you made the wrong decision, exactly, but I think it might be better to know.” She paused. “I didn’t know you were adopted.”

“My biological mum and dad weren’t very nice. My mum was my teacher in first-year.” When Esmeralda looked lost at the mention of muggle school, Matilda hastily explained. “We start school when we’re little, to learn things like reading and writing and arithmetic.”

“Arithmetic?”

“It’s – you know what, never mind. I used to have a brother, too. I guess I technically still have a brother.” Matilda sometimes worried about Michael, even after all the years in-between. “But my mum now is utterly fabulous. It’s just a little strange to carry what used to feel like me ‘old’ name, now.”

“I like the sound of your last name, if that helps at all,” Esmeralda said. It did help.

“But at home I’m Matilda Honey,” Matilda continued. “I love that name. Isn’t it lovely?” She felt lighter after telling someone, and Matilda felt like kicking herself for not entrusting Esmeralda with what Professor Sprout had said earlier. Maybe it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the long run, but someone else knowing made a difference in the moment. Matilda could suddenly enjoy her food much, much more.

After dinner, Matilda slipped away to the owlery, which smelled rotten but was full of beautiful creatures all the way up to the rafters. Off to the side, she found a shelf stacked with quills and parchment. Then, with a soft coo, Portia fluttered down from one of the top perches in the tower and landed on Matilda’s shoulder, re-fluffing her feathers. “Hullo, Portia. How was your day?”

It was peaceful, being alone in the tower and feeling decidedly separate from the rest of the castle and its inhabitants. Even after her conversation with Esmeralda, Matilda held breath she thought she didn’t have, and she released it surrounded only by animals.

She whispered a spell she had read about in her Charms book and crossed her fingers of her free hand behind her back. “Scourgify!” A spot of the floor suddenly cleared of owl droppings and scuff marks, and Matilda sat on the old floorboards, drawing her knees up close against her body.

It was hard to start the letter, and harder still to decide what to say. Matilda missed Miss Honey like she was missing a leg. It caught her off guard, how strong the emotion was.

_Dear Mum,_ Matilda wrote at last. _My first day of classes went well, I think – I was a little self-conscious, but I made friends on the train yesterday. I got sorted into the house I think I wanted. It’s called Gryffindor, and its students are supposed to be brave. Do you think I’m brave?_

Matilda paused, and considered scratching the last sentence out. After a moment, she shook her head hard, like he was trying to get water out of her ears. _I’m already doing well in lessons, which is a massive relief. All that reading last summer worked! How are you? The first day of school just started, right? Are your students good this year?_

Matilda decided against telling Miss Honey about what Professor Sprout had told her about her last name. “Wormwood” hardly mattered to her back at home, anyway.

_I’m okay, Mum, I promise. Just a little homesick, but I’m sure that will pass. Hogwarts is wonderful_. Matilda scratched the end of her nose with her quill. _But I miss you._

_Love,  
Matilda_

It felt a little bit like giving up already, once she had it written down in black ink. _I miss you. Do you think I’m brave?_ Matilda gave herself exactly a minute to cry into her elbow, and then she defiantly wiped her eyes and tied her rolled-up letter to Portia’s proffered leg.

“Say hello to Mum, okay? Maybe she’ll let you stay a night in the house and give you a nice treat.” Matilda could see Miss Honey in their snug little home hundreds of miles away, not yet asleep, and probably reading by the fire with a cup of tea. Matilda was in Gryffindor, for her bravery and her risk-taking, and she still missed her mother desperately. 

From the owlery, she could see the tops of the trees in the wide expanse of the Forbidden Forest. Matilda suddenly thought of the dementors (where were they now?) but the stretch forest at the very edge of Hogwarts’s grounds was… comforting. She knew too much about the creatures, magical and not, frightening or ordinary, but Matilda thought knowing was so much better than not knowing. An errant gust of wind blew across Matilda’s face, and caused a kerfuffle with the owls behind her.

She took it as a sign to leave, but before she turned back, she watched Portia fly out of the open windows. Matilda glanced up when the lone snowy owl in the owlery sneezed, and then she turned on her heel to march her way back to Gryffindor tower. The castle felt heavy with quiet, and Matilda had to double-check her watch to make sure she wasn’t past curfew.

She would get used to Hogwarts. She had the whole castle to explore, and she had homework to do, and she had people to meet. Matilda would be fine. If she could survive Crunchem Hall and The Trunchbull, she could survive absolutely anything. Hogwarts was so much better. She’d make sure it was.


End file.
